circle

So I sit here and instead of writing that usual vapid little poem I think I'm going to try something different. But, alas, I find myself writing my way into circles. Constantly, consistently I find myself thinking the same thoughts and coming to the same conclusions. I don't have anything fresh or new to add. I am not a unique voice. I haven't even written a word, and, yet, I know that it isn't worth the effort. Back myself up against that immovable wall because baby nothing is breaking through this dim.

toast

sometimes that's all there is one word from one tiny language toast do you know why i'm toast? because I am no longer capable I don't wake up to the sounds of my mother making it I don't wake up to the sound of a wife serving it I don't wake up to children seeking it I have lost myself I have lost the way if toast is no longer something to celebrate then it is done; obliterate

love

one word so little time to gear myself to your crime and if you were to be my muse would you hold on to me despite the abuse and if i were to be your all and i stopped your fall would you move to that word's groove? love our little word

Joe's right it's the perfect time to write while in tune with the night feeling slumber's tender fright there's no sleep in darkest light our drunken hearts can't face the fight and as I played the moment passed too focused to sense the time to write I've lost the sight I lack the might but heed this warning-you'll make it right you'll save us from the dark night's plight

another person walks down the hall shadow reflecting on the glazed white walls and I shed a tear for another love a piece of my heart now removed I want to tell them this is everything I want to scream that we are free but I'm paralyzed in my fear and darkened chaos brings drops to my cheeks

here I am. isn't that something? I guess I never realized before but I'm standing here knocking on your door isn't it funny? that we all happen to be on this earth at the same time and in the same place we have the chance at something great

I want you to want to talk to me say something first please

gosh! a hello is all I need so what, forget your bitter heart now what? you've closed yourself off but if you just say hi I'd guide you back into this life trust me, it's okay to cry

I want you to want to talk to me is that so wrong? you don't mind my interruptions (that's what you said) but you don't initiate the conversation it's like you never cared and that's all I need to hear

I wish I could tell you that I belong but if I told you the truth I'd be disowned I'm not normal- not part of your group I don't like that type; that's the truth

the boy of eighteen who could do anything he played on the piano he captured photographs what hearts desire and no one knows and still he chose to be betrothed of a silly school in midwest recluse to struggle daily for a game without mercy he says it's the program he says for education but I know it's something different he came here for love of an incomprehensible game and he won't tell me what but something matters in that play something grander than pitching balls and swinging graceless bats something worthwhile something true the boy who can do anything found something with meaning he's better than me I flounder in the sea